would spring to life when she wore heels. Her body was tanned like she’d just got back from someplace tropical. Her breasts were firm, the left one pierced, a small golden hoop on the nipple, both nipples erect. She didn’t have any body hair, not even over her pussy. That part of her was as bald as my head. Decent proportionality. Everything about her went together like Dolce & Gabbana.
She whispered, “I’m not wired. Relax. No entrapment. I’m legit.”
I motioned toward the darkness resting in the other room. “What’s back there?”
“Bedroom.”
I crept toward the bedroom door, hit the light switch.
The bed was made up, but a ton of clothes were on the covers. Everything was new and still in plastic. The bathroom was on the other side of the bedroom. I went to the bathroom, pushed the door open, looked inside. The room was humid, mirror damp in the corners. Scented soaps and potpourri were in a basket. Wigs were on a stand. One was in dreadlocks, another a pageboy cut, one long and brunette, one a short red mane with blond highlights. A wicker bowl filled with makeup and lipsticks was on the counter. Tools of the thieving trade.
She called out, “Make sure you look under the bed.”
“After I check the shower.”
I went back to the bedroom, then stopped by the bed and read a few of the labels. Versace. Yves St. Laurent. Armani. Prada. Herrera. Narciso Rodriguez. Zac Posen.
The merchandise was hot enough to burn down half the valley. She was a legit thief.
I went back into the front room, my expression hard. Nothing I’d seen had distracted me.
Arizona was still naked.
She asked, “Satisfied? Or do you need to do a cavity search?”
“Looks like some things fell off a truck.”
“Trucks are sooo throwback. It’s all about cyberspace. It’s a new day, all about fake IDs and credit cards, all about hijacking the Internet from the comfort of your own home.”
She eased her skirt over her frame, then put her blouse back on. She left buttons undone, more cleavage this time. I guess she figured I’d seen all she had to offer, so it was no big deal.
She asked, “Now where was I before your paranoia kicked in?”
“Having a little book club meeting.”
“We hold it hostage.”
“It’s a book, not the Lindbergh baby.”
“The laptop it’s on is priceless. To him if nobody else. What’s on it is worth a cool million. No different than stealing a company’s master documents. We get his intellectual property, he’ll freak out.”
We moved back into silence, her seven-figure words the bench we were resting on. If she was talking about diamonds or government secrets I would know where she was coming from. It was a stupid book. I didn’t understand where she was going with this, so I listened.
I asked, “You fence it ... what?”
“We steal it, then go right back to him with a ransom demand.”
“I’m not feeling this.”
“What’s the problem? Too simple or too complicated?”
“It’s not like doing a bump and lift to get credit cards.”
She drew her smoke, the popping and crackling sounding like music. Arizona frowned and blew the fumes away, then studied me. Her sweet-smelling smoke clouded the room.
Arizona nodded like she had figured something out. She asked, “Gambling debt?”
“Why you ask that?”
“Last night your head wasn’t busted. And yesterday it didn’t seem like you could be persuaded to help me out with this job.”
My head wound sang a brief song of pain. I studied her the way she studied me.
She said, “And you don’t have the same disposition you had at Back Biters last night.”
“Likewise. Same goes for that cute little message you left on my machine.”
“Oh, I’m the same.” She winked. “You’re tense.”
“I’m tired. I’m the one with the day job.”
“Last night you were easygoing.”
“JD gets me in that frame of mind.”
“Horny and easygoing, I might add.”
“Your point?”
“You just saw me naked. No reaction. I won’t take it personal.”
She headed toward the kitchen. Her oversized slippers flip-flopped against her feet. She went to the sink and ran water over the tip of her smoke, then tossed it in the trash.
She asked, “That fresh gash in your head, something to do with Hummer Girl?”
“What, you trying to get the Sherlock Holmes award?”
“Hummer Girl hopped out of her ride like she was a vigilante, marched up on you and frowned at me like she wanted to stab me in the throat with a steak knife.”
“Told you the bitch was looking for her husband.”
“Nigga, please.” Arizona didn’t back down. “My first